


before this moment.

by petrichor3145



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Bathrooms, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 09:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichor3145/pseuds/petrichor3145
Summary: Who knew having a penchant for talking to himself in bathrooms would lead to some accidental confessions to an anxious stranger in one of said bathrooms?





	before this moment.

It’s been twenty minutes since the start of Alana Beck’s college graduation party, and Evan already wishes he could fit himself into the tiny closet in the corner and hide there without anyone noticing. See, he’s not great at a little thing called “socializing,” and, factoring in the bright, sweaty stickiness of the room and the copious amount of alcohol that’s making everyone a bit too handsy, Evan just wants to curl up into himself and hide for the rest of the night. Well, that or chug down a can or two himself, but the alcohol table’s all the way across the room and he’s just sort of stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

At least he’s not completely alone. Zoe is here, too, and her presence is like one of those hats with a visor that blocks out the sun from getting in his eyes, and the sun is having to talk to strangers, and dear god is Evan not good at metaphors. At least he’s not majoring in creative writing.

“Are you having fun, Evan?” she asks with a small smile on her face which assures him that she is, at least.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he lies with a plastic grin.

That somehow makes Zoe smile even wider. “I know, right? I thought I’d be miserable since Alana’s leaving before us, but, I don’t know. She’s our friend, I’m sure she’ll keep in touch.”

Evan nods along agreeably to what she’s saying. Alana’s always been active on social media; she’ll find a way to keep up to date with him. Even if Evan isn’t going to be the first to send a message by any means. That, well, not because he doesn’t like being Alana’s friend, but because he’s terrified of rejection. Is that a good enough excuse?

Evan’s eyes scan the room idly as he goes on his mental tirade, trying to find something to distract himself with to fill the void of silence caused by a lull in his conversation with Zoe.

What happens next is analogous to that moment when you take a sip of steaming soup and it’s absolutely _delicious_ , but it burns your tongue and you half-regret it and yet still savor the taste.

Okay, he’s gonna stop trying now.

Anyway, his eyes just sort of travel to this random guy he doesn’t remember having ever met. He’s got this bravado about him that might have been what caught Evan’s eye in the first place. His hands are tucked in sizeable pockets and his brown hair rests in tufts against his head, poking out from behind his ears. Glasses offset the clarity of his blue eyes, accentuating his toothy grin as he snarks something to the person next to him.

Evan’s not sure whether he likes or hates this guy, but it kind of feels like both. At once.

“Evan? Hello?” Zoe says, snapping his eyes back to her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” he says faintly. In a brief moment of bravery, he points to the object of his interest. “Um, who’s that?”

Zoe’s eyes narrow as soon as she follows Evan’s finger to the man standing not ten feet away. “Him? Jared Kleinman. He’s a real jerk. I honestly don’t know why Alana even invited him here,” she says, regrettably, because as soon as she utters his name, he perks up and walks over to the two of them, dismissing the person he was talking to with a wave.

“What was that you were saying about me, Zoe Murphy,” Jared greets, “something about how you wish I was your dead brother so you wouldn’t have to deal with my face everyday?”

Wow, that joke had somehow managed to be insensitive, smooth, condescending, and self deprecating all at once.

Zoe glowers. “For the love of god, Kleinman, please take you and your bad attitude somewhere that isn’t here.”

The statement only seems to have the opposite effect. Jared takes a seat at their little table, entirely nonplussed. His eyes move to Evan, who tenses under their acute gaze. “And you must be Evan,” he says.

Evan may or may not emit a high-pitched squeak. “Zoe, how does he know my name?” he demands with a voice taut like a stretched violin string.

Zoe shrugs helplessly. “I only mentioned an Evan, like, once.”

“ _And_ you said he was shy. Which he obviously is. I mean, look at him.”

Jared makes a grand gesture at Evan, who for once is genuinely wishing he could just disappear.

“No, I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t.”

“See what I mean? He can’t even hold eye contact,” Jared says, and then seems to notice what damage he’s doing because he follows up with, “Hey, do you need a paper bag?”

Evan shakes his head. “No,” he chokes out, “I’ll be good. I’m great.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jared says.

He’s more lively company than Evan’s had since he moved from his mom’s house a few years prior, but not in the well-meaning kind of way his mother had always expressed. More in a cruel and distinctly mocking fashion, with an aura that screams “I’m obviously better than you, so get over it, loser.”

Well. Zoe may be seething from her spot at the table, but Evan’s mostly used to feeling inferior anyway, so what’s one more (admittedly handsome) assurance that he is?

—o—

Evan’s tolerance is wearing thin. It’s been an hour, now, and Jared hadn’t stopped talking for twenty minutes straight until he’d gotten distracted and wandered off to torture someone else after a while. He’s only part of the problem, though.

People surround him everywhere he goes, people introduce themselves and shake his hand, people move in unpredictable ways and talk at unpredictable times and their eyes wander at the most inopportune moments. It gets to be so much that Evan starts to feel like a ticking time bomb who’ll either pass out or burst into tears soon.

So he stakes out the only place guaranteed to be somewhere people, or at least men, tend to rarely want to socialize in.

The bathroom.

So he just ends up staring awkwardly at his expression, wondering what he should do now that he’s hidden himself from most of the party’s roar.

And this is when he hears the door creak open. Evan would think the slow, almost hesitant way the door doesn’t just get thrust open is odd and somewhat telling of whomever just opened it, considering he did the same thing when entering this bathroom himself, but he’s kind of busy throwing himself into a stall and trying to latch the lock both as quickly and as silently as possible. He really has no idea why he’s hiding, but he thinks it might have something to do with his eagerness to not have to confront another human being in a _bathroom_ , of all places. For good measure, he draws his knees up into his chest and holds his breath as he waits.

The first thing he hears from whoever’s in here with him is the sound of the click of a lock reverberating in the tiled room. He has a fleeting, irrational fear that the other person knows he’s in here and is locking the door to carry out some heinous murder or something else equally as appalling. Evan has to pinch himself not to make any more embarrassing noises at the thought. When he calms down, though, he realizes that he should’ve just used the lock when he came in to prevent this very situation from happening. Oh well.

Listening quietly, Evan tries to glean something about what’s happening outside his stall without risking being caught spying in here. Oddly, he doesn’t hear the telltale buzz of a zipper coming undone, but instead the unscrewing of some sort of metal cap, followed by the glug of someone chugging down liquid.

“Jesus,” the person breathes once they’ve swallowed whatever the drink is.

With a jolt, Evan is reminded of an awkward, lilting voice which never seemed capable of “sincere.” He realizes the person in here is Jared.

“God, what am I doing in here?” Jared asks, and Evan is incapable of answering for multiple reasons.

Why is Jared talking to himself in a bathroom, of all places?

Actually, for all Evan knows about Jared, this might be a usual occurrence and Jared is either clinically insane or some sort of genius, because Evan read somewhere that people who talk to themselves are more likely to be smarter, but—

“Actually, I know. It’s prob’ly just ‘cause I get off to the sound of my own voice.”

Evan _really_ hopes that was meant as a joke.

“Just kidding.”

Whew.

“God, am I an idiot,” Jared says with a hopeless laugh to nobody but himself, “I brought a flask because I knew I’d lock myself in here at some point tonight. But there’s already alcohol here, so. Yeah. Idiot.”

Evan has a ridiculous desire to proclaim, right here and right now, that _no_ , Jared is not an idiot. But that would be crazy because for all he knows, Jared’s test scores might be shit.

A hitched breath. “I can’t do anything right.”

Maybe this is just Evan’s empathetic side taking over, but it suddenly feels like his heart is squeezing out of his chest for the pitiful voice behind these thin walls. Why would anyone think that about themselves?

“Just tonight, for example, Kleinman. You annoyed literally everyone in the room, joked to Zoe Murphy about her dead brother who you were friends with and whose suicide was probably your fault, accidentally insulted Alana at her own graduation party, and you teased Zoe’s cute friend to boot. Nice going, me,” Jared mutters sarcastically and huffs.

Evan’s breath catches on that last one. Was Jared talking about… him?

“Jesus Christ, I’ve been wanting to talk to Evan Hansen for ages and the moment I finally get the chance, I just. Tear him down.”

A sniffle. “God,” Jared laughs, “I must be allergic to my own emotions.”

Oh wow, this suddenly just got a lot more personal and Evan starts to feel claustrophobic in his own skin. Why is he here, he shouldn’t be here, it’s wrong to eavesdrop and pretend you’re not somewhere when you really are, this is wrong—

“Why can’t I just act like myself? Or am I really this big of a jerk? I mean, that question has an obvious answer but—”

Okay, that’s it. Evan takes a steeling breath and does what he thinks is probably the right thing to do, so in essence to save what’s left of his moral code of conduct, and unlatches the stall door, pulling himself out with infinitely more confidence than the shred which had spurred him on in the first place.

Jared immediately flinches and whips around in surprise, revealing a tear-stained face and an empty flask in the automatic sink. Evan thinks it’s absolutely heartbreaking. “What—” Jared starts, but Evan interrupts him.

“Okay, before you ask, yes I heard everything and I’m sorry but you came in so fast I just thought I should hide but yeah I shouldn’t have done that and I’m so sorry,” Evan mutters, stumbling through apologies with the ease of a penguin attempting to lift itself off the ground with its wings. Yup, nope, okay, so he’s still not good with metaphors. Add that to the list.

Jared is still for a few moments, staring blankly with a gaping mouth, before abruptly closing it and moving a hand to fiddle nervously with his bangs. “So… you heard the last part of it, too?” he asks slowly. Evan can’t see his face, so he doesn’t really know what expression Jared’s making but maybe it’s a bad sign that he can’t see Jared’s face because that means there’s something to hide, so—

“Um, what? I—I mean yeah, I heard everything?”

Jared rests a stabling hand on the sink as Evan watches his every move in apprehension. Jared’s next words just seem to slip out when he asks, “Do you hate me?” all fast and choked and like he has everything to lose, even though he’d only first talked to Evan about an hour ago, from what Evan remembers. Jared’s hands snap up to his mouth as soon as the words have passed his lips and even faster than Evan has time to comprehend them.

“What? No, of course not, I—why would you think that?” Evan asks a little more harshly than intended, even though he’s not angry, he’s confused and disoriented and far more experienced at being comforted than doing the comforting himself.

A muffled sob, followed by a bitter laugh. Evan thinks he’s starting to understand what Jared does with his emotions, and he’s not exactly loving the arsenal of weapons Jared seems to have made from his own tears.

“Because I’m a terrible person,” comes the answer, nasally and resigned.

Evan takes a step forward. “No,” he insists, “you’re a miserable person. I don’t know how anyone could live like you do.”

Remarkably, the words come without hesitation.

Jared gives him a scathing glare. “What would you even know about how I live?” he asks condescendingly, the angry glint in his eyes suddenly making Evan feel like a bug by comparison.

“I—I know enough!”

Jared takes another step back. Evan responds by taking a step forward, making Jared sigh roughly and turn to grasp onto the sink for dear life. He looks into the mirror with disgust, meeting the eyes of his own reflection. Evan looks, too, and notices for the first time the bags under Jared’s eyes. How had he missed those before? Had the brightness of his eyes tricked Evan into ignoring the dark circles under them? The exhaustion which lurks right under the surface of a confident facade?

“All I do is make everyone around me miserable,” Jared bites out, still gazing hatefully into his reflection, “who the _fuck_ cares how I feel?”

“I do,” Evan says sincerely, “and you should.”

Jared drops his gaze from the mirror, letting his arms hang loose. He finally looks at Evan, lost. “Why?” he begs, that one syllable containing more honesty than the entirety of Jared’s snarky ranting from half an hour ago.

Evan takes tiny steps forward until he’s close enough to reach over and touch Jared’s face, this time able to move forward without him shrinking away. This is when he notices his hands are trembling, not with fear or anxiety this time, but with anticipation as Evan prepares to say the words he wishes his mother had said to him.

“Because if I—” he takes a deep breath— “if I can forgive you, so can you—can you forgive yourself.”

Jared is still except for the silent sobs that make his shoulders hitch every now and then. His lip is trembling.

“‘M sorry, Evan,” he eventually mumbles before collapsing into tears.

It’s nothing like how Evan cries, with no shaking hands or frantic breaths or erratic twitching and fidgeting and fixating. Instead, the room is nearly void of sound as tears stream down Jared’s face, and he moves to wipe them away with weak fingertips nearly at the same time as fresh ones trail down his cheeks.

Evan watches in amazement for a few seconds, trying to reconcile this version of reality with his own experiences. “Um, Jared,” he starts quietly, “let me know if this isn’t the time, but. Well. Do you want—uh.”

Evan raises his arms in a nonverbal attempt to convey what he wants through actions rather than stumbling words. Jared meets Evan’s timid eyes with his own wide ones and nods once, fleetingly, rushing forward until they’re hugging each other close.

It feels warm and special, like this is their moment and no one else’s.

Evan shudders when he feels warm, damp breath hover over his ear. “You do remember that I said you were cute, right?” Jared whispers uncertainly, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

“Am I, am I letting you go?” Evan asks in response, only holding on to Jared tighter.

Jared gives Evan’s arm an affectionate squeeze in response. When they pull away, both of them are smiling, even though the corners of Jared’s eyes are a little more raw than normal and his cheeks a tad more ruddy.

Evan grabs Jared’s hand without hesitation and gently tugs. “I think Alana’s gonna miss us if we don’t get back soon,” he says with a faint smile he doesn’t have to fake. Whatever happened to the awkwardness that normally comes with two near-strangers stuck alone together in a room?

Not that Evan misses any of it.

“I, yeah. I can do that,” Jared says in response, and his voice is cracked and chafed and imperfect, but somehow a lot less haughty and a lot more real than before.

And all of this is how starts Evan and Jared’s imperfect, but somehow much realer relationship than either of them had ever thought he was capable of with anyone before this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit, this was rushed. I was trying for a different style than usual, so forgive me if there are errors or the pacing's off. Basically, I was trying to make the style mirror Evan's spiraling thought process in the musical, so there are quite a few mental rants that have nothing to do with anything.
> 
> Also, Jared's insecure. Obviously. Did anyone catch the reference to the musical's original script in his first description?
> 
> Okay, that's all. Comments, criticisms, and compliments are always welcomed; they validate me, so.


End file.
